Merry Christmas

Okay, okay. I guess I was just a wee bit harsh on my parents in my previous blog.

Turns out we had an 11th hour rescue from the Indian stranger (as in from India..or somewhere nearby). He called and asked for money.... his luggage had been lost or somesuch silliness as that. Hmm.... good thing I had already planted the seed about the similarity of this and some of the common email scams going around. Almost too bad in a way though. I had all the meals for the next week planned out already. For breakfast, lunch and dinner we were having BEEF!

My father, in his usual fashion pulled through too. I'm getting a laptop. Or at least that's what's been expressly implied that I'm to put the gift card toward. Seems an expensive way to go about gifting himself with the sole use of his own computer.. but hey.. it works for me.

The whole problem I think, is that I'm getting older. Suddenly (okay... not so sudden.. ) my parents don't live up on pedestals, instead, I, *gasp*, see them as human beings, complete with all the foibles that entails. Typical of any offspring, I like to bring a big ol' shiny spotlight to bear on each and every one their peccadillos. This isn't because I'm perfect. By no means am I even close. I'm just one of those people that takes an inordinate amount of glee in pointing out when anyone (even myself) performs some truly dumbass move. And my mother wonders why I don't want kids... doesn't she know that you only reproduce yourself, only worse!!??

That's it... I'm screwed.

Nobody, and no family is normal, I know that. N-O-R-M-A-L. Normal. It's a myth- an unattainable standard. I can accept that. Dysfunctional is the status du jour. My family, however, raises the bar for dysfunctionality.

I remember shortly after I met Danielle. She asked me if I was related to Zach Gilbert. Which, of course, I am.
"I thought maybe," she said. "We had to do this family tree project in French class..."
Say no more.
Zach is my uncle. He's something like 6 or 7 years younger than me. As for my Family Tree. Well, it branches, and it branches cleanly, it just branches at some pretty odd spots.
Still, all this is on the normal side.

There is always my father. Don't get me wrong, I love my father. I wouldn't trade him for any other Dad in the world. There have been times he's just done amazing things for me- like driving down to Elmira from Mexico on a moment's notice, just to sign my World Show entries and then drive back. That's one of those incredible "Dad" moments. Then again.. there are moments like my 16th birthday. He gave me one of those cardboard jewelry boxes; you know the ones I'm talking about- white, with that square of cottony fuzz inside. Under that fuzz was an old battered key. Sure.. I know what you're thinking... a key, on your 16th birthday- he gave you a car! Well, sure. Sort of.
See, that battered key went to an even more battered car. It was the old family car that had been parked in the yard for who knows how long. We were going to fix it up, and I was going to drive it at college. I just don't think that Dad had ever informed the squirrels that had made their home in that Chevy Citation of this plan. Nor do I think he told any of the other varmints that had been transient residents about it either. As for fixing it up- he made it as far as checking the brake lines. When they dissolved in his hands, he gave up. I never did sit behind the steering wheel of that thing. I think it got hauled off for scrap metal. I don't think I even have the key. Nor did I keep the box. The box wasn't wrapped, as I recall, but I think it did have a spiffy bow on the top. You know- one taped on, since it was a re-tread from the Christmas before. He did buy my sister her first car. Guess what- it's cute, purple, and it runs.

Now my Mother wants me to babysit her for Christmas and spend it with some stranger she met on the internet. Granted, I met my (now ex-) husband on the internet, but when I actually went to "meet" him, it was in a public place, with friendly back-up/escort. I mean, just how much trouble can you expect in public at the United States MILITARY Academy???? But no. My mother has invited this stranger, and strange kid into her house. I realize she's a widow, and lonely, and getting older.. but has she lost her marbles???

So here I am- my father is polyurethaning the house, and refuses to put up a Christmas Tree. He ran out of propane (but did get more, this time) and has a girlfriend in most major sections of the country it seems. (Okay.... minor exaggeration), and Christmas gifts this year promise to be.. if not grossly unproportional, at the very least, interesting. My mother is asking me to spend Christmas with her and a total stranger that is quasi-foreign, whom she hasn't got a clue about what's fact or fiction with this guy... and had the nerve to ask if I might pick him up at the airport. Has the world gone mad?!?!

I always wondered how my parents ever survived my childhood. I mean.. when they were my age, they had a 10 year old daughter. I can't even begin to imagine. Now I know it took it's toll. The results were just a little delayed.

If you look at this from a genetic standpoint, as I age, I'm going to go completely whacky. I am totally screwed.
I can spell dysfunctional two ways; D-A-D or M-O-M. How do you spell it?

Join your local United Association of Stall Sifters today!

No matter how you slice it, work is still a 4-letter word.
Don't get me wrong, I love my job. I must, or I would have gone worse than postal by now. Can you imagine- "Demented woman, smells of manure, harassing downtown citizens with pitchfork"- News at 6. ??
Nope, no 9-5 desk job for me. It goes against my grain. But, while I love my work, it's no walk in the park.. (unless of course you walk the same route in the park, for 12 hours a day, every day of the year.. then, in that case, maybe...) Anyone who thinks it is, I will automatically give you a beginner-apprentice membership in U.A.S.S. and allow you to shadow me for a day or two.
Did you know, I was actually asked what I was doing for Christmas? ... Like, DUH. I'm working.
No, really, I am working. You know something? (Yeah yeah yeah.. I'm WORKING) Taking care of a horse is a 365 day a year thing. Taking care of 12 or 26 doesn't do much but add HOURS (and hours) onto your day. I have not yet worked out the training formula for teaching a horse how to feed, water, turn-out, clean, and exercise/train themselves. Believe me, when I do, I'll have a DVD series, a special patented halter, and pitchfork out faster than you can say, "Pat Parelli".
I was also asked to ride an extra horse today. I looked at my list of horses still to work.. and said, "Uh.. sure, but which one of those 10 are you going to work for me?"
Shock.
A blinking stare.
"Well it's only a few minutes....."
Only a few minutes??? Only a few minutes???? I wanted to scream, "Do you realize it's a physical impossibility for me to work all 10 of those horses? It goes against the space-time continuum. It takes an act of superhuman stamina, organization and time management. And you want to add another one!! Only a few minutes......????"
Excuse me, but is my cape showing?
What did I do, you ask? Well, I rode the extra horse of course. Why? Because it's easier than trying to explain to someone who doesn't understand. The only people who can actually understand what you go through in the course of a day are 1) those who've "been there, done that" or 2) mothers of .. oh... about 7 kids, 6 of which are two sets of triplets.
In order to get through my average day, time is budgeted in such a way, that if nothing goes wrong, then you've gotten 95% of your horses worked (remaining 5% are usually your own) and chores are done and you can go home 10 hours later.
HAH!! Did you spot that? Did you see... the magic words.. "if nothing goes wrong"...... That's like a cosmic joke.
So that's barring- a horse that tore their stall apart, tore their blanket, broke a halter, broke a board, broke a gate, broke a latch, broke a stall, broke fence, anything involving blood, anything involving (god forbid) the vet, one gets cast, one goes lame, throws a shoe, missing leads, missing/misplaced equipment, sudden rain/sleet/hail/snow/thunder storm, visitors (of any type... but we do LOVE visitors..breaks the monotony).
Of course, there's the additional duties that add hours on the day- WATER THE ARENA!, drag the arena, pile manure, pile sawdust, drag paddocks, mow lawn, plow snow, break ice, fill troughs, weed-eat, trim trees, paint trim, paint fences, repair fences, fix drainage, clean up after those who can't clean up after themselves.
By now I've been at the barn from 8:30-9am, to about 6-8pm. I haven't even thought about any of the "normal" things that still have to be done: pay bills, grocery shopping, banking, post office, laundry, vaccuum, dishes, clean house, billing, bookkeeping, answer email.
The ATM deposit feature is my friend, and did you realize that starting at approximately 11pm Super Wal-Mart starts stocking it's grocery section?

Now, we recently left Glenn with the responsibility of all the stalls. It's not an impossible chore for one person, but it is an all day thing. Mostly, thanks to some great boarders, (ours and his) he had help. This let him get done in enough time to take something resembling a break before starting evening chores. Now, the problem occurs when it snows. When we get enough of the white stuff to warrant plowing, that can be an all-day job in and of itself. So, now you've got 1 man with 2 ALL DAY jobs.
Same thing- in March when Glenn goes to Florida, and leaves Kenn and I with the whole barn. Did you know, it always snow's like a mother in March? Usually the day after Glenn leaves. But what's the big deal you ask? There is two of you- one to clean, and one to plow. Problem solved, right? Let me ask you- if one is cleaning, and one is plowing, who the hell is riding our horses?
See, those horses are what pays my grocery bill. Each customer has money that's the same shade of green .. as far as I've ever been able to tell, it all spends the same. But, if those horses aren't getting worked, they ain't getting what they paid for, they go somewhere else, and guess what- I don't eat!!!! I like to eat. I LOVE to eat. It is the only time in the whole day where I actually get to step away, and have "down" time. (and the phone rings.. every time. But that's a subject for another blog).

I'm not a size 2 by the grace of God. Hell no! I work my ass off to fit into these pants! Long live U.A.of S.S.!!

C'est Fin! (almost. Close enough)

Or is it fine? Ahhh... it's been over..... well.. it's been a very very long time since I've even written in French. Anyway- the stalls are done. Sort of.

They are done. They'll hold horses tomorrow. Walls are up. Doors are hung. We're level, square and plumb.
Okay okay.. maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration. But we are NO MORE than 1/4 of a bubble off- anywhere. (That's a good rule of thumb for life, by the way).
True, I do need to finish with the polyurethane. Someday. There is also hooks to put up and buckets to hang- BUT WE ARE DONE.
Hallelujah!
Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice!

(Who says I don't have christmas spirit??)

Learning by Example

I am totally blessed. Someone, somewhere, smiled upon me. I am getting an intern!! Better yet, I'm getting two. You know what they say- if one is good, two is better. At least this wasn't a case of- "take two, they're small". Being vertically challenged myself, the "small" jokes just aren't going to be as forthcoming from me.
However, on a more serious note- as trainers we very often come across young people who let it be known that their express ambition in life is to be a (gasp!) horse trainer. Of course, also being the good little horse trainers that we are, we are concerned for these kids, and try to let them know that this is no life for them. Go be doctors, lawyers and such. Go forth and...prosper. We try to explain that if they are hell-bent on a career path that includes a 50/50 chance at starvation, at least pick one that isn't so hard on the body. You could, for example, always be a starving artist. At least insurance isn't so hard to come by then. (I suggest that as an example, since that was the career path my family begged me to take)
I think these girls may be differant however. They've already got a lot of what it takes to make it in this world, and they don't even know it yet. Sure, there are a lot of unique problems to be faced as a prospective trainer, just starting out- and more so as a "rookie" female in this field. The hardest part to make kids that want to be horse trainers understand is that training horses isn't a horse job. It's a people job. It's every bit as much a people job as being a social worker. You have customers. You have to understand your customers and deal with them fairly and always in an ethical manner. The golden rule doesn't get any more golden then when dealing with customers.
That is where I think the strength in these two girls lies.
From every person you come in contact with, you will learn something if you open your eyes to it. You may not always learn what you should do. You may learn nothing more than what not to do. Both of these girls have seen the all three sides of being "Joe Customer"- the good, the bad and the ugly. They've felt the highs. They've drank the heady brew of success, and sipped from the well of comraderie. They know how good it feels to feel wanted and accepted- to be part of something larger than themselves. They also know what it is to be shunted aside when your horse isn't good enough anymore, or you're not going to enough shows, or you just plain don't have a horse. They've been judged by the depth of their checkbooks and been found wanting. They know how it feels to have thier personal value be calculated with dollar signs.
They've walked a hundred miles in the shoes thier future customers will wear. They've "been there and done that". This will give them an extra bit of insight and empathy that perhaps their peers won't have.
So long as these girls never forget, I think they'll do just fine.

(Sort of) Extreme Makeover: Barn Edition

You may have guessed, (or even have heard) that we're remodeling the barn. For those familiar with our place- it would be the dirt-floor barn. I like the "coffee-side" just the way it is, thank you very much. (Besides, as command central, what the hell would I do w/o that area.. or, more importantly, where on earth would I put all the stuff in there while I was remodeling???)

Anyhoooo. This was supposed to be just a simple matter of new stall fronts and dividing walls. Note the italics in the previous sentence. And did I say "simple"?? What WAS I thinking?? That's the question, actually. What the hell was I thinking?

So.. we decided that this was going to be a quick project for after the World Show and before all the new training horses came in. Right. (For those of you who've had to be pushed back.. thank you so much for your understanding) We'd shift some horses around and do the three stalls on the one side. Demo started. Demo abruptly stopped. The front walls were off and the dividing walls were set to come down, as well as the 4 x 4 posts. However, when the first dividing wall that was between the stalls came down, part of the ceiling tried to come with it. Turns out that they set the ceiling right on top of the walls. (Which in turn explains why it over-laps the bolts that hold the hangers for the tracks) And the top board to the walls weren't set with joist hangers.. they just sorta were there. Same thing with the 4 x 4s. They weren't exactly load bearing- (Thank heavens really.. since the bottoms were all rotten and sorta floated there above the ground) - save for the fact that the headers that the tracks were on tied in to them, and the ceiling sat on all of it.

A lot of bracing and lifting and prying later, we got most of the guts of the barn back to level and close to square. I was really afraid that since it was unlikely the barn was actually ever either of those to begin with, it was really going to screw us up. Thank heavens we had enough lee-way that the only problem is that if you really look at the middle stall, it's not a square, but a trapazoid, and the end stall is more of a rhombus. My horses will all be excellent at geometry. If only I can teach their riders the circle shape...

Stall fronts are up; tracks and doors are done; we're getting wood to finish the last dividing wall, and we've opted to let the last two stalls go until spring. After all, this simple little project has already gone a full week over it's time allowed. (And the original plan called for doing the other two stalls!) We've parked the trailer where we're storing the new stall fronts. Most of the tools are put away.........

And that brings me to the introduction of yet another one of our, oh, so lovely, children- Heavy On Charm. "Heavy" doesn't quite cover it. She is our resident broodmare, and prima diva. She is semi-retired from the show ring after earning an ApHC Champion Award, a couple of World Show top fives, and a National Hight Point top ten. She considers herself royalty and demands that sort of treatment, on her terms. Apparently, upon realizing that her stall was not to be remodeled immediately, she took it upon herself to do her own remodeling. I will have pictures posted soon.. (as soon as I figure out how to get them off the phone..) until then, you'll have to survive with a verbal account.

The square footage of the stall was dramatically increased when Charm moved the ENTIRE stall front about 2 additional feet into the aisleway. To accomplish this, two large beams had to move too. Yep- she snapped them both. One she actually broke in two places- once at the base, and once up by the ceiling. Since her neighbor, Ace, would not co-operate in this expansion of their territories, the front boards that attach Charm's stall to his, all pulled free of their nails. The door (the sliding type) was, of course, pinned in it's location by the track at the top. The bottom however, took the outward plunge, resulting in extreme fractures above the level of the handle.

Now, I've had horses try to dig themselves an escape tunnel, or recontour their walls beaver-style, or create a door between themselves and a neighbor by removing a board or two, and I've even had one chew themselves a window, but I've never had one get quite so extensive with their remodeling efforts. She managed this without leaving so much as a nick, scratch, or cut on herself.

Move over DIY hosts! "Charmie" can move small buildings with a single shove and never even get a hair out of place.

Oh- and yes we are now going ahead and doing those last two stalls.

Tis The Season

I SOOOO want to do this sometime.

Might as well have some sort of fun with this white stuff.

Get A Life

I just recieved via a friend a blog/newsletter/post thingie entitled "Ruminations" by some guy who is not to be confused with the ultimate fighter by the same name. I thoroughly enjoyed it. It was a compilation of witty observations on a variety of high-tech subjects. I sensed a serious recurrent theme, however.
Unfortunately, despite my enjoyment, it made me just a titch depressed.
It hammered home the fact that I just do not get out enough. This time of year sucks. Snow keeps you pretty well barn bound. Nearly no shows- my social calendar has suddenly dissolved to nil. My current observations on the status of the world is now limited to the amount of snow that has fallen, the properties of said snow, exactly which methods should be employed to move the snow, the physics of flying frozen horse manure, et. al. You get it.
I need to expand my horizons.

I understand that in the Eskimo language there are 29 words for snow..................